


invisible strings (from you to me)

by extasiswings



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Canon-Compliant Pandemic, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Eddie POV, Episode Tag: 4x01-4x02, Family Feels, Gen, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Quarantine, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: Parenting is full of unexpected challenges.  That’s a thing people say—certainly something that Eddie has heard or read many times over the past decade.  And he likes to think he’s accepted that, gotten used to rolling with the punches instead of falling on his face every time.  It’s not as if his experience with fatherhood has been challenge-free.Funny how when people talked before about potential unexpected parenting challenges, a global pandemic never seemed to make the list.Eddie supposes it will now.
Relationships: Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz, pre-Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 51
Kudos: 327





	invisible strings (from you to me)

**Author's Note:**

> So, pre-season I basically said that I would rather walk into traffic than write anything pandemic-related. And then after 4x01 and the sort of confirmation that everyone was at Buck's for a bit I was about 75-25 split on "Would still rather walk into traffic than write anything pandemic-related but kind of want Buck comforting Eddie who is missing Christopher." And then that scene with Eddie and Christopher and Carla at the end of 4x02 killed me dead so...here we are. Warning for the obvious existence of a pandemic and a lot of angst and feelings about Eddie struggling to balance the realities of being a first responder and wanting to keep his kid safe and healthy with wanting to be there for him.

Parenting is full of unexpected challenges. That’s a thing people say—certainly something that Eddie has heard or read many times over the past decade. And he likes to think he’s accepted that, gotten used to rolling with the punches instead of falling on his face every time. It’s not as if his experience with fatherhood has been challenge-free.

Christopher’s diagnosis.

Shannon leaving.

In El Paso, trying to balance providing and being present as a single parent.

An earthquake.

Shannon coming back, dying—

A tsunami. Hell, he thought once that nearly losing your kid in an unprecedented natural disaster and helping to sort through that trauma afterwards would be the last big hurdle he would ever have to overcome. He was almost looking forward to the _expected_ challenges after that—middle school and high school and dating and all of that.

Funny how when people talked before about potential unexpected parenting challenges, a global pandemic never seemed to make the list.

Eddie supposes it will now.

* * *

It happens slowly and then all at once. 

News reports, easily ignored as something happening on the other side of the world.

Confusion and misinformation spreading around— _it’s like the flu, right? No big deal_ —that makes Eddie’s stomach twist like he’s edging toward the top of a roller coaster about to drop, but instead of anticipation it’s suspicion and stark, cold fear. 

And then, abruptly—lockdowns, school closures, rapidly spiking case numbers—

Eddie tries at first, really truly tries to delay what was probably always inevitable. His abuela moves in after Carla calls apologizing profusely because she has other clients that are much higher risk and can’t do without her and he takes every overnight and weekend shift he can so that he can be home when Chris is trying to navigate online school. He showers at the station and then again immediately when he gets home, scrubbing his skin raw under water as hot as he can make it until he feels comfortable enough to exist under the same roof as his family. His work uniforms don’t come inside the house—Buck offers early on to do laundry at the loft for him and Hen and Chim because _I’m the single, childless one, it makes sense, buy me some extra detergent and we’ll call it good_ —

He stops touching Chris. Catches himself when goes to kiss his forehead or reaches out to ruffle his hair or squeeze his shoulder. His hands ache with the urge, his whole _body_ rebels against such foreign withdrawal, but Eddie can’t help the ever-present weight of anxiety bearing down on him, the whisper of _what if_ that pulls him back.

He makes it three weeks. Three weeks before he responds to a medical call that every single one of them knows is a positive case. The man dies before they even get to the hospital, and at the end of the shift, after all the PPE has been stripped off and Eddie’s changed back into street clothes, he sits frozen in the locker room, head in his hands because he can’t get his feet to move.

Or, really, because he knows he can’t go home. 

Eventually, a familiar hand curves around his shoulder and squeezes gently.

“Come on,” Buck says quietly, his own exhaustion written in every line of his body. “You’re coming back to my place.”

And Eddie doesn’t have it in him to do anything but agree.

* * *

Two months later, the loft is a little crowded with the addition of Chim and Hen, the latter taking an air mattress on the living room floor while the former crashes on the couch. It hadn’t taken much beyond Eddie’s insistence after the first shift that he wasn’t going to steal Buck’s bed and Buck’s subsequent rebuttal that he wasn’t going to make Eddie sleep on the couch for the two of them to agree to share it, so the sleeping arrangements work at least, but privacy is hard to come by.

And Eddie is...struggling. 

At work, he’s fine—it’s easy to get lost in the routine, to go through the motions and help people who need it.

It’s when he goes home—to Buck’s, to a place that is at least familiar and comforting but really isn’t _home_ —that he has to face everything else. The fundamental sense of _wrongness_ that flares up under his skin whenever he goes grocery shopping only to leave the bags outside the door for Isabel rather than bringing them in himself. Or when he calls Christopher over Zoom or Skype only to be faced with a new haircut or news of a mini-growth spurt or any number of other little things that never fail to make Eddie feel like he’s missed a step on the staircase. 

“Dad?” Christopher asks, yawning as he sinks down deeper under the covers of his bed. “When are you coming home?”

—things like that.

Eddie sucks in a breath, trying not to let that blow land when it wasn’t intended as such. His gut rolls with guilt anyway, and he bites back the urge to say _soon_ or even to just grab his keys and drive the fifteen minutes that it’ll take to go back then and there.

“When it’s safe, buddy,” he replies, keeping his voice carefully even, reaching out to the screen like if he wishes hard enough he’ll be able to reach through it. “The _second_ it is, okay? Because I miss you, kid. So much.”

Chris rubs at his eyes and nods. 

“Love you, dad.”

“Sleep well, okay?” Eddie says. “I love you, too.”

When the call ends, he sets the tablet aside on the kitchen island and just breathes for a moment. He’s not sure where Hen and Chim have gotten to, but he’s grateful for at least some semblance of space as he struggles not to shatter under the guilt, the grief, the rage that this is not how things were _supposed to be_ , that he’s failing and he’s missing everything and he can’t _fix it_ because there are no good options, only lesser evils—

Eddie picks up a stray wine glass that was left on the counter and turns on the sink to wash it out, only for it to slip through his fingers and smack hard enough to send two large cracks spidering up the edge.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears and hears footsteps on the loft stairs. He picks up the glass carefully to drop it in the trash—it breaks the rest of the way in his hand, although thankfully over the can, and the edge of the shard he’s left holding slices his thumb.

“Everything okay?” Buck asks, walking into the kitchen. Eddie swallows hard around the sudden lump in his throat as he runs his hand under the faucet.

“Eddie.” 

“The, um, glass broke,” he forces out. “Cut myself. It’s small—I’m fine.”

It’s _stupid_ is what it is, that something so minor has his shoulders shaking, his eyes stinging hot as his free hand grips the edge of the sink.

Buck reaches past him to shut off the water, then takes his hand, wrapping his thumb in a paper towel and holding pressure.

“I’m fine,” Eddie repeats, his voice catching on the last word.

“You were talking to Chris?” Buck asks, clearly ignoring the blatant lie.

Eddie pauses. Swallows again. It's not any easier the second time. “He asked when I was coming home,” he admits. 

“Eddie…”

“I made a promise,” he says, the words spilling out now that he’s given an inch and he’s cracking, breaking, the fractured pieces of his control crumbling to dust as he tries in vain to pull them back together. “That I was never going to raise my kid from the other end of a video screen again. And now I’m—”

He gestures absently with his free hand.

“I’m supposed to _be there_ ,” Eddie adds. “When I came back, I said I was never going to make him miss me like that again. I wasn’t going to leave again.”

“You haven’t left, Eddie,” Buck insists. He slides his free hand around the back of Eddie’s neck to make him look up. “You _haven’t_. You’re right here doing what you have to in order to make sure he stays safe and healthy. He understands that. Everyone understands that.”

“He’s growing up so fast. I missed so much already, I don’t want to miss anymore.”

Buck shakes his head. “You won’t,” he replies. “There’s still plenty more growing up he’ll have to do, and you’re going to be there for all of it.”

He drops his hand and unwraps Eddie’s thumb, which thankfully doesn’t start bleeding again.

“You’re a great dad, Eddie,” Buck says. “And you’re going to get to go home again, okay? This isn’t forever.”

Eddie exhales shakily and nods once, twice, trying to grab the lifeline of reassurance.

“I hate this.”

Buck’s thumb ghosts over his wrist. “I know.”

* * *

When it’s safe to go home again, Eddie doesn’t even call ahead to tell Christopher he’s coming. He just grabs his duffle and skirts the bounds of legality with the speed limit to get there as soon as possible, nearly dropping his keys with how much he scrambles to get them in the lock. But as soon as he’s through the door—

“Dad?”

“Hey, kid,” Eddie chokes out, crossing the room in a few strides before his legs refuse to hold him any longer and he drops to his knees in front of Christopher, tugging him into his arms. He’s bigger and taller and doesn’t fit in Eddie’s arms the same way he did before, but none of that matters, none of it, because just getting to hug him again is already the best thing Eddie can imagine. 

“...dad, are you crying?” Chris asks after a minute of hugging him back, concern tingeing his voice.

Eddie laughs wetly and turns his head to press a hard kiss to the side of his son’s head.

“Yes,” he admits. “Because I am so happy to see you again.”

Christopher smiles. “I missed you, too.”

After that, Eddie feels like he’s trying to work out months of deferred touches. Christopher positively demands that he sit with him at bedtime, which leads to Eddie falling asleep awkwardly next to him more often than not when he finds himself unable to bear getting up. It leads to any number of cricks in his neck and back, but he can’t seem to mind them, all too cognizant of the fact that there’s a time limit on this kind of affection. That too soon, far too soon, his kid will be a teenager who doesn’t need his dad to tuck him in anymore, who will wrinkle his nose at having his hair ruffled and insist on doing as much as possible by himself. 

But that’s in the future. And for now, in the present, Chris is just as clingy as Eddie is, wants hugs and cuddles and bedtime stories—wants his _dad_. And Eddie could almost cry from the relief of that too—that he still has time. Because that time is precious.

He’s never going to take it for granted ever again.


End file.
